


Borrowed Time

by CaesarVulpes



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Asexual Character, Clothed Sex, Cock Warming, Creampie, Deepthroating, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, Exhibitionism, Humiliation, Jon is getting off and has No Idea how to handle it, Kink Meme, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Objectification, Oral Sex, Sexual Coercion, Spitroasting, Trans Jon, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Sex, canon-typical Jonmartin pining, kink shaming the entire Beholding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-27 01:42:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21384013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaesarVulpes/pseuds/CaesarVulpes
Summary: Martin walks in on Jon and Peter, and Peter invites him to join.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Martin Blackwood/Peter Lukas/Jonathan Sims, Peter Lukas/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 9
Kudos: 312
Collections: Rusty Kink





	Borrowed Time

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fill for https://rusty-kink.dreamwidth.org/1380.html?thread=134500#cmt134500 (Peter/Martin/Jon, dubcon, spitroasting, manipulation)  
the lovely j quadrifrons (Jenavira) also posted their fill "Unscheduled" for the same prompt and I cannot recommend it enough

Martin pushes Peter’s office door open and stops.

Jon’s perched in Peter’s lap, looking frazzled and cross, eyes screwed shut. His shirt is rucked up and half-unbuttoned, there are bites and bruises all over his neck and shoulder. Jon’s trousers are barely pulled down to just under his ass (_an alluring strip of soft skin, he wants to trace it with his tongue, to bite until Jon squeals_) and Peter’s hand is between his thighs and he’s rocking up into him and Martin didn’t know he could still _want_ like this. The twist of heat in his gut at the hint of dark hair he can see under Peter’s hand is almost foreign.

“I told you not to touch me,” Jon snaps, swats at the offending hand.

“You’ll feel much better this way,” Peter says. Presses his fingers into a spot that makes Jon gasp.

“I _won’t. _Just get it over with.”

As he watches, as Jon moves jerkily on Peter’s lap, Peter _looks up _and _smirks _at him. Fucking _winks._

“You know I just remembered, I’ve forgotten to lock the door.”

The punched-out little noise Jon makes goes straight to Martin’s cock. Peter waggles his eyebrows at him, starts to move his fingers in slow circles between Jon’s thighs.

“That’s it, then? That’s what you needed?” Peter tuts, steel gray eyes locked on Martin’s. “Beholding. All the bloody same. Exhibitionists and voyeurs. Stubborn thing like you, I thought I might need to fuck you in the _library_ to get you wet.”

Jon whines, face flushing. Martin’s not sure if he wants to leave or for Jon to notice him.

“s-Stop it,” Jon snaps. “That’s—you’re _disgusting._”

“What does that make _you,_ Archivist?”

His eyes slip shut as he fucks up into Jon, and now he’s drawing out strangled moans, high whimpers. Jon’s shaking, flushed, biting his lip.

“If your little friends could see you now. Do you think they’d have more or less respect for you?” Peter’s eyes open again and they are alight with mischief.

“What do you think, Martin?”

Jon gasps, eyes snapping open and immediately landing on Martin, and his whole body shudders. His mouth open in a silent _O _of pleasure and shock.

Martin knows, with a dizzying certainty, that Jon just _came._

(_He wonders how many times he could get Jon to do that before he started begging. __Crying.__)_

Peter moans. “Oh, _very_ nice, Archivist. Wasn’t he lovely, Martin?”

Jon whimpers.

“Martin,” he gasps, breathless, scrambling to arrange his clothing, swatting Peter’s hands away. “I—this isn’t what it—i-is everything alright? _Are you_—”

Peter claps a hand over Jon’s mouth.

“Can’t have you Compelling my assistant, that’s just _rude. _ Especially when he’s just given you such a nice orgasm. _” _

Jon goes red all the way down to his neck and starts to squirm. He grumbles something, muffled by Peter’s hand, and stops meeting Martin’s eye.

“Come here, Martin?”

He doesn’t _have_ to do what Peter says. This is absolutely not part of his job. His feet don’t have to carry him closer, closer, rounding the desk until he thinks he could _smell_ Jon’s arousal if he tried.

(_And doesn’t that sound good, nosing into that tantalizing patch of dark hair, sucking the slick from his folds, pressing in until Jon is all he can feel, taste, __**smell**__.)_

Close up, he can see one of the straps of Jon’s binder. It’s darker than his skin, now, closer to the rich, warm brown it used to be than its current grayish tinge. Even before the coma, it had started to go ashen and sickly.

“He’s very pretty like this, isn’t he?”

Jon grumbles, squirming.

“After he had the audacity to barge in here, demanding answers. I think I’ve been very generous, don’t you?”

“I suppose,” Martin sighs. He knows this will go faster if he indulges Peter.

“I told him if he did me one little favor I’d let him see you,” Peter continues, fucking up into Jon with lazy little motions. “Though, when I asked him to keep my cock warm I did expect him to protest, and certainly never expected _you_ to come peeping.”

Martin’s face burns. “Some of us have _work_ to do, Peter, and, funny enough, that includes _you_.”

Peter makes a noncommittal noise. Jon’s eyelids are starting to flutter, his breath coming faster under Peter’s hand. He wriggles, starts to grumble again. Peter laughs, as though either of them can understand Jon.

“Now, now, Archivist, I never did say anything about letting you _talk_ to him.”

Martin almost laughs as he sees Jon very clearly bite Peter’s hand.

“I’ll just, um.” He starts. God, he’s still so nervous around Jon even in such a clear power shift. “I’ll just let you finish up.”

“You could always have his mouth,” Peter says, conversationally, as though this is not an absolutely _wild_ thing to say. “Can’t trust him to keep it shut, after all, and he did go to all this trouble to see you.”

He lowers his _very _bitten hand from Jon’s mouth.

“What do you think, Archivist.”

Jon’s face is crimson. “I—I...”

Of course Peter wants to fuck with him. Test his dedication or some bullshit like that. Martin sighs and glares, as if they don’t all know he’s going off to have a very unsatisfying wank in the bathroom. God, he can’t even _see_ anything and he feels about ready to come in his pants.

“Fuck off, Peter. You’re not half as funny as you think you are.”

He turns on his heel, feeling small and stupid and uncomfortably seen.

“n-No, _wait_.”

The heat of Jon’s skin is almost searing after so long. His hand white-hot on Martin’s wrist.

“Please, stay. You—you can do anything you like,” Jon says. “Please, Martin, I miss you. I just—I’ve wanted to see you so badly, please stay.”

Martin looks down into earnest eyes, stunned. He can’t possibly be _serious._

“What, you’d actually…?”

Jon’s face is uncomfortably close to Martin’s very obvious erection. He nods, solemnly, like they’re talking about literally anything other than_ sucking him off._

He wants to say yes. He wants it _so bad _his knees feel weak. He shuffles closer and Jon puts a hand on his hip. Burning, like a brand. Like they’ll melt together and he’ll never have to be apart from him again. Something cold and deliciously cruel makes Martin hesitate.

“Ask me nicely, Jon. I think you owe me that.”  
Jon stammers, taken aback, and doesn’t meet his eyes.

“Please?” he says, mortified. Shy, even, which is _fucking absurd._

“You can do better,” Peter prompts, and Martin shoots him a glare that only makes him grin.

“Please, let me...” He swallows, throat working (_that same dark part of Martin imagines how far down his cock could go before Jon chokes_). “p-Please, let me suck your cock. F-Fuck my mouth as much as you want, please let me make you feel good.”  
Martin’s breath hitches. Jon’s voice has always been a staple of his fantasies but never...he’s never been able to picture him being so openly filthy.

He opens his trousers with shaking hands—Peter whistles.

“Very nice, lad.”

“Shut up, Peter,” Martin says, vaguely, on reflex alone. Jon’s eyes take him in with equal parts greed and apprehension, his scarred hand a lovely texture against Martin’s aching cock.

Martin’s _cock_ is in Jon’s _hand _and he literally cannot believe it’s real. Jon leans forward, and time seems to slow as he hesitantly draws his tongue up the head of Martin’s cock. God, it feels amazing, slick and soft, and Jon makes that punched-out little noise again.

“o-Oh.” He trails his mouth down, more confident, choking a whine at the back of his throat as his tongue works against the tender underside. His hips work in little circles in Peter’s lap.

“Oh, _fuck_,” Jon gasps, sucks noisy kisses to the base. “Oh, that’s, i-I didn’t...You _ taste_...”

Jon stammers himself into confused silence, brows drawn tight together as he suckles at the head in a way that makes Martin’s knees threaten to buckle, oh god, his mouth is so _hot _inside. His brain keeps skipping on those last two words like a scratched record.

_You taste, you taste. _ Martin knows from experience that cock is not an exceptionally palatable flavor, but Jon moans so ardently, suckles so greedily, that Martin can’t help but think he was _born_ for this.

“What do we say, Archivist?”

“th-Thank you--”

Martin takes the chance and slides past Jon’s trembling lips into the sweet heat of his mouth. He _moans,_ lashes fluttering, eyes rolling with the effort it takes to keep them open. To keep that piercing gaze on Martin.

“He likes that,” Peter says, fucking lazily into Jon. “Beholding types are all the same when you get down to it. Greedy sluts, the lot of them. You know he’s nearly a virgin, right? He’s just _like _this. It’s in their blood. Put a cock in his mouth and he just melts.”

Jon’s face goes even redder, but Peter’s right on the mark with that. Jon certainly acts like it. Eager and surprisingly skillful, given the circumstances. Martin wonders if the Eye is telling Jon how to do this, when he has the capacity to think anything but slick heat and soft, sweet moans and adoring brown eyes. It’s those eyes that get him the most. Trusting, looking up at him with almost worshipful attention as Jon sucks his cock. He trails his fingers down Jon’s cheek, so warm and alive, and Jon’s eyes crinkle at the corners like he wants to smile.

Peter huffs, and grabs a handful of graying curls and shoves Jon forward. Jon gags, his eyes wide and panicked, and his hands scrabble at Martin’s trousers, but oh _god_ it feels so good Martin can’t help but buck forward until he feels the head of his cock breach Jon’s throat, so _tight_.

“That’s more like it,” Peter says. Jon makes a wet, desperate gurgle of protest, tongue squirming against the almost too-sensitive underside of Martin’s cock.

“Shut up, Peter,” Martin snaps. Tangles his hand in Jon’s hair until Peter has no more room and is forced to release him. (_Mine, says the dark part of him. This is me letting you __**borrow**__ him)_. Martin pulls back to let him cough and gasp ragged breaths into his starved lungs, then thrusts deep deep _deep._ Jon gags and gives a full-body shudder and his eyes roll back and he gives such a series of pathetic moans that Martin’s knees shake.

“He’s just cum again,” Peter says, conversationally, though his breath is ragged. “Made a right mess of my trousers. I’m thinking of having him clean me up after I’m finished.”

Martin keeps his pace through Jon’s whimpers.

“I think he’d like that.” He doesn’t remember deciding to speak. Jon gurgles something like a whine, and the hands at Martin’s hips curl into desperate, digging claws, drawing him closer.

“If he’s a good little whore I’ll let him use his tongue.” Peter’s pale hand wraps around Jon’s throat, squeezes but doesn’t choke. “Maybe even fuck his throat. Since he seems to like it so much.”

Jon makes a noise like a sob, then retches as Peter starts to fuck him hard enough to drive him all the way to the base of Martin’s cock. God, he’s so close, and Jon’s throat ripples around him, so good it almost _hurts._

Those eyes look up at him, hazy with lust, so wide, so trusting, and Martin yanks Jon’s head back to cum into his mouth—he wants Jon to taste it, wants him to _choose_ to swallow it. His knees go to jelly, and his bones to sand, and all he can feel is ecstasy, all he can see are Jon’s beautiful eyes and the white pooling in his plush mouth.

Martin thinks he can hear himself moaning. As soon as he has the thought, he hears Jon moaning, too. Those pretty eyes rolling back as he swallows.

Peter groans, slams into Jon with filthy noises, and Jon gasps as he starts to come back to himself.

“n-No, wait, not inside--”

Peter moans, long and broken, and drives deep as he finishes. Jon whimpers, shudders. Mashes his face against Martin’s hip as he shakes and cries and comes _again._

Martin has to pull away. It’s too easy to lose himself in Jon’s heat. Jon makes an utterly wounded noise, grabs for him, and Peter lets him tumble out of his lap and onto the floor. His trousers are, indeed, quite a mess.

Martin could also have happily gone his whole life without seeing Peter’s cock. God’s sake.

“Alright, visiting hours are over,” Peter says cheerfully. “Off you go, Martin. I’m sure whatever you needed you can solve on your own.”

He’s right, and Martin hates that he’s right almost as much as he hates seeing Jon crawl back to him and start to lick the cum off Peter’s trousers. He slams the door and does not acknowledge the wisps of fog rising around his shoes.


End file.
